


The Flowers of my Love Belong to You

by The_Inkinator



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Angst and Feels, Character Death, Hanahaki Disease, M/M, Major Illness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:00:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27837208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Inkinator/pseuds/The_Inkinator
Summary: Jaskier comes down with a deadly disease, and there's nothing Geralt can do to stop it.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 3
Kudos: 63





	The Flowers of my Love Belong to You

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, welcome to the angst corner of my brain. It get's sad, but I hate sad so y'know I get sappy instead.
> 
> Geralt is so out of character probably but I've had this idea in my head for a few days and it's been bothering me so I needed to write it down.
> 
> Sorry in advance if I make anyone cry. As the person who wrote this, I have no idea if it will or not, but I've been told my writing can invoke some strong feelings so be warned. x

It was deep into the witching hour when sounds filled their small camping site. Geralt sat up slowly, moving in such a way that he made no sound despite the layers of clothing keeping the warmth in. He looked around, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness enough to make any shapes out. His eyes landed on the bedding beside his and found it empty. Panic flared up in his chest, and he sucked in a deep breath through his nose, trying to catch any scent of his bard.

The sound returned, drawing Geralt's attention. Had the bard gotten up and been attacked by a creature in the forest? Geralt stood from the floor and grabbed his sword. He crept through the brush, eyes flitting around in an attempt to find the source of the sound. He crouched down near the stream that they'd gotten their drinking water from before dusk. Someone was hunched over, dry heaving into the water. It was difficult to see in the dark, but there was a faint scent of blood in the air that raised the hairs on the back of Geralt's neck.

The figure stood up after a few seconds, and Geralt realised it was Jaskier. He felt the tension bleed from his muscles. His bard was okay. Slowly, as to not startle the human, he raised from his crouch and made his way over to the water. He released a small grunt, curious as to what ailed his bard.

Jaskier startled, spinning around, but relaxing once he saw Geralt in the darkness, his hair likely giving it away. "God, Geralt, don't sneak up on me like that." He tilted his head to the side, not needing to use words for Jaskier to know his silent question. "Oh, I'm alright. Something I ate, probably." Jaskier waved him off and moved around the Witcher to return to their camp. Geralt sucked in a breath as the man passed him, the faint tang of blood was still there.

"You were bleeding?" He turned on the spot, noticing that Jaskier had stopped, his shoulders hooked around his ears. He was uncomfortable. Geralt reminded himself that humans often didn't take well to his bluntness, but it was too late to take the question back, so he remained still. Jaskier would either ignore the question or dodge it if he didn't want to answer it.

"I'm certain I would know if I was bleeding. There must still be a bit of blood on my shirt from the last monster we hunted." Geralt didn't miss the changing of tenses, or how the bard used we. He took the change of topic as it presented itself.

"You don't do the hunting." He moved to lead the way back to the camp, not wanting Jaskier to get lost in the pitch black. It was difficult for the Witcher to see in the dark, let alone a human with their terrible eyesight. He felt a shaking hand being placed on his shoulder but he didn't flinch away from it. In the darkness, he allowed himself a small smile.

"Don't get cocky now, darling. We both know I helped out quite a bit in that last one. I was the one doing negotiations with the towns-people." Geralt rolled his eyes fondly. He found it impossible to be mad at his bard. Of course, the human wouldn't be able to see the movement or know that Geralt thought so fondly of him. And if the Witcher had any say in the matter, it would remain that way. Any destiny involved could fuck off.

He allowed another grunt to pass his lips, this one shorter than the others. Jaskier knew it was contentment that shortened the sound, and not frustration. It hadn't taken the bard long to learn the different sounds that the Witcher used to communicate and what they all meant. It was impressive, considering his brothers sometimes didn't even know what he meant. Nonetheless, he appreciated the small squeeze the hand gave his shoulder in reassurance.

A few days later, they were in a small village, having picked up a contract to slay a Kikemore. It was enough money for the two of them to rent a one-bed-room in the local inn and get a warm bath. Jaskier was even able to gather a large enough crowd in the inn with his music that they made a bit of extra coin.

Geralt was the first to bathe, under Jaskier's insistence. The Witcher had sunk into the water, dipping low enough that his chin was only just above the water. Jaskier helped with his hair, running oils through it that only had a faint scent of lavender. Then he heard the small cough. It was quiet enough that Geralt would have passed it off as the bard clearing his throat, and he wouldn't have thought much of that either since the bard had been singing that evening. However, when the hands left his hair in order to cover Jaskier's face as he broke down into a coughing fit, that drew the Witcher's attention. He turning in the bath and saw the pained expression on the human's face.

"What's wrong?" Geralt was more direct this time, concerned for the only friend he would ever admit to having. Once again, Jaskier waved him off, his face still scrunched up in pain.

"It's probably nothing. A little illness most likely." Jaskier coughed once more, and Geralt thought he saw something white on his tongue before the bard's lips were sealed once more. "Really, I'm fine!" Jaskier exclaimed, looking far less in pain once the coughing fit had passed. "No need to be worried, it'll pass, whatever it is." Geralt hummed in suspicion but didn't question it further, turning back around in the water, heating it once more with a little magic. The hands returned to his hair, and he hummed once more in appreciation. Jaskier began humming a tune in response, content to forget the moment that had passed between them.

The sickness didn't pass.

As they travelled out of that village and moved onto another, the coughing only became more frequent. Geralt had tried to ask the bard about it, but Jaskier would wave him off, spouting some nonsense about it passing in due time.

It wasn't until they reached the next town when Jaskier was coughing too much to be able to perform and there was blood speckled on his sleeve that Geralt became concerned tenfold. He stopped the bard from going up to the stage with his lute in hand and gave him a stern look. "You need to see someone about that cough." Jaskier tried to wave him off once more but barely raised his hand before his face twisted into one of agony once more. Geralt pulled the man down to sit beside him and, despite not knowing if it would work or not, rubbed the man's back as he began coughing once more.

It took a few minutes before the coughing passed. The whole time Jaskier hand a hand over his mouth and Geralt could detect the faint scent of blood once more. There was something seriously wrong with his friend. "Come on. We can ask if there is a healer around here. Perhaps they will know what is wrong." Geralt helped his friend up, the bard looking pale and shaking slightly.

The innkeeper had been kind enough to point them in the direction of a house. Some old lady who often mixed herbs and tended to whatever wound was inflicted during farming. As they approached the door, it swung open. "Ah. I was wondering when you two would be getting here. Come, come." She was indeed an old lady. She was short with her wispy white hair tied back in braids. Jaskier went first, stepping through the door. Geralt went to follow, only to have a stick placed against his chest.

"Wha-?" He stopped himself before he could let out the question. If the lady didn't want him there, then he would wait outside. He knew how humans felt around him. He wanted to make sure Jaskier was okay, and if that meant not being in the same room as someone who hated him then he would stay away.

"I don't let more than one person in at a time. It's the rules. Feel free to sit over there." She pointed her walking stick at a bench near to the house. Geralt hummed in response and simply did as he was told. Being a Witcher was tricky as it was, he didn't need to provoke any more people than necessary.

He almost turned around and barged in when he heard a cough escape Jaskier's lips. Instead, he only glanced over his shoulder, the door being shut in his face.

He settled down on the bench, trying to listen in on what was being said inside, however, it seemed like the building was made of sturdy wood, as no sound passed through that he could distinguish.

Half an hour passed before the bard exited the wooden house. Geralt stood, slowing himself down halfway up to not appear to be worried. He didn't need the human to know that he cared for him. Jaskier was pale still, and the shaking was still there, but somehow worse. He approached the Witcher and looked up, determination in his eyes. Geralt could smell the fear in the air. He looked over Jaskier's shoulder briefly to see the woman looking startled but sorrowful. He looked back at Jaskier, wondering what had been discovered.

The bard opened his mouth as if to say something, but no sound came out. Geralt could sense the fear rolling off of his bard in colossus waves. "Jaskier?" His voice was quiet, perhaps too quiet for the human to pick up on. The bard looked up, having dropped his head.

"I'm dying Geralt. Nothing can be done to stop it." Fear prickled along Geralt's spine, the words echoing in his head. No. His bard wasn't dying. He couldn't just let the bard die without trying everything he knew first. "Don't Geralt. Don't beat yourself up about this. I don't want you running around trying to find a cure, magical or otherwise, that doesn't exist." Jaskier took Geralt's hands in his own, and Geralt felt a feeling swell up in his chest. Concern perhaps? "Can't everything just stay how it was? Besides, I'll finally be off your hands once I'm gone." Jaskier looked sad. He smelt of sorrow.

Geralt fought back yelling out in frustration. He wanted so desperately to insist that they try to find a magical cure, for there had to be one. He knew his words in the past were rough around the edges, his own voice echoing in his head, reminding him of the time he'd told Jaskier that he wanted him gone.

_'If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands.'_

He'd never been more grateful that the bard was far more stubborn than him and had promptly told him that destiny couldn't give him any blessings if it didn't exist. He'd held onto those words, Geralt realised. He believed them.

"I don't want you gone." His voice was soft, and it irked him. He didn't want to be soft, Witcher's couldn't be soft, but he needed Jaskier to know that he didn't want the bard to leave. He looked down at their hands, connected at the fingers. Jaskier was stroking his thumb along some of the small scars that decorated Geralt's hand.

"Okay. I'm not going anywhere yet. Let's get back to the tavern, someone might have a contract for us." Jaskier grinned up at Geralt, his warm smile brightening the dull world around them. Geralt didn't return it, he couldn't.

"You look after yourself, boy." The woman called after them as they left the area to return to the tavern. It didn't dawn on Geralt until much later that he had never asked what was ailing his friend. But it was late, and he didn't want to wake the sleeping bard beside him despite his nagging curiosity.

They fell back into a routine. It was almost identical to the one they'd held before, with Jaskier making music to perform, and Geralt taking up contracts where he could, however, one thing changed. Jaskier was dying. Their time together was limited. Geralt knew how much his bard hated spending more time than necessary away from people. His voice needed to be heard and he craved the audience. So he started making stops in towns more frequently, taking up small jobs other than his Witchering business in order to afford the inns, despite them still not being more than necessary.

Jaskier seemed to appreciate it, smiling softly at Geralt before breaking down into more coughs. He was still performing, somehow his words not getting caught in his throat like when he tried to speak. Geralt hadn't noticed it at first, but as time went on he realised something was different. Jaskier wasn't looking for him over the crowds of people anymore. He was deliberately skipping over him whenever he was performing. The bard would sing his ballads to young-looking ladies and handsome gentlemen, but before he'd sung his songs to Geralt, and that was no longer the case.

It pained the Witcher. He didn't know why not understanding what it was what he'd done wrong to envoke the dismissal of his bard.

One evening, while they were out in the forest between towns. Jaskier was sipping from one of their waterskins - Geralt wasn't sure when they'd become theirs instead of his. The bard was avoiding Geralt, and the Witcher knew that. His tongue sat heavy in his mouth, the desire to ask if he'd done something wrong threatening to spill out. He knew it would come out wrong, his words always did when he was trying to be sincere. "Does something bother you, darling?" He looked up, realising he'd begun to push his food around the wooden plate instead of eating it, so caught up in his thoughts. "I hope nothing ails you too." It was a joke. Jaskier was making a joke. Geralt hadn't realised how much he had missed the bard's jokes.

A small smile spread across his face; it was barely visible, but his bard saw it. "Nothing is wrong." He tried, but there was hesitancy in his tone. His bard didn't miss it.

"Ah, but something bothers you, doesn't it. Come on Geralt, we're friends. You can-" He was cut off when a harsh cough cut through him unexpectantly. Geralt's eyes widened when he saw it. White petals spilt past his bard's lips, blood-stained and dropping to his plate. He could only watch in horror as the human tried to clean them up, his face flushed a deep red. "I'm sorry," Jaskier muttered, trying to hide the flower petals.

Realisation washed over Geralt, suddenly recognising the disease that plagued his friend. "Don't be sorry." He croaked out, trying to get a quick hold of his emotions. Jaskier was in love with someone and they didn't love him back. Who in the entire world would look at Jaskier and decide that they didn't love him? "You have Hanahaki?" The bard looked up, tears in his eyes. He looked scared. He smelt terrified like he was staring down a monster.

Geralt sucked in a breath. Jaskier was afraid of him. "Yeah. I didn't know how to tell you. How could I? It's a disease brought on by unrequited love." Jaskier hunched into himself, looking down at the blood-stained flowers sticking to his hands. "It's a fools illness."

"There is nothing foolish about love." He hated his voice at that moment because the words came out all wrong. It sounded harsh like he was being sarcastic. He tightened his grip on his plate, before forcing himself to put it aside so he didn't break it. "But there's a cure for Hanahaki. Why don't you try it?" He was, of course, referring to confessing ones love to the recipient. It didn't always work. If the person rejected it, the ailment would kill them quicker. However, there was also another cure, one that removed the ill person's emotions for the recipient entirely. Geralt knew that no one wanted the second option, and desperate men would take the first over such a slow death as the one brought on by the disease. It was the cowards way out, but it sometimes worked.

"Because, Geralt, I would rather take a slow death than face the reality that he doesn't love me, not even a bit." There was resignation in his eyes. Jaskier already knew that they didn't love him back, but he was kidding himself, refusing to admit that his love could never love him. Geralt felt a pained spike in his chest, twisting and digging into his heart. He ignored it, ignoring the hatred that boiled into his skin at the thought of someone throwing away Jaskier's affections so loosely.

"Hmm." He couldn't form words, afraid that they would twist in his mouth and he would hurt his already sad friend. Jaskier seemed to understand, nodding in resignation and returning to his food. There was silence too thick to break that evening, so neither of them did. Jaskier fell asleep next to Geralt without even humming himself to sleep as he did most nights. The Witcher found he missed the sounds.

Months passed, and Jaskier never got better. Neither of them spoke of it anymore. Jaskier would continue to hide the petals as if the white spilling from his mouth was something shameful, and perhaps it was in his eyes. Geralt chose to try and find a cure, despite knowing that his bard would never accept it. Jaskier didn't want to lose those feelings that he had, even if they were slowly choking him as the flowers of his affection sprouted and grew inside his lungs. His bard was selfish for it, and Geralt couldn't even begin to understand, but that only meant he wanted to help his friend more.

The two were in a town, having just returned from a job. For once they had received full payment, and it was enough to keep them in the town for a few more nights. Geralt was content if Jaskier was comfortable.

His bard was wearing a sharp blue outfit and was by the bar, happily singing and strumming his lute for the crowd. Geralt had grown somewhat used to the lack of eye-contact that had become the norm between them while Jaskier was performing. Something about it seemed to quell the sickness for a short while. At least, it used to. Their eyes met across the room for only a split second before Geralt broke it, looking down at his ale once more. He looked up from his ale when the singing suddenly stopped. Jaskier was nowhere in sight.

People backed away from where Jaskier had been standing. The scent of Lupine hit Geralt's nose. His eyes widened and before he knew what was happening, he was crouched before Jaskier. His bard had collapsed, choking up a whole flower. His golden eyes scanned over the pale looking bard, worry lacing his thoughts. "Is there a healer? Mage?" He snapped his gaze up to the innkeeper. The man was similarly pale as his friend on the floor, but he managed to nod.

"There's a travelling witch on the west side of town. You can't miss her." Geralt didn't give his thanks. He scooped his bard up into his arms, the movement causing more flowers to spill past Jaskier's lips. His bard was barely breathing, his heartbeat slowed to the same as Geralt's.

The Witcher moved swiftly through the town, navigating with keen eyes. He needed to find someone, they had to help him. Geralt didn't know what he'd do with himself if his bard died. He couldn't imagine a world where his bard wasn't in it anymore. He forced the thoughts from his mind, focusing on his surroundings again.

The scent hit him. Lilac and gooseberries. "Fuck," He cursed into the open air before reluctantly following the scent. No one carried that smell around with them. It could only be Yennefer. The one mage he had hoped to never cross paths with again. She was their travelling witch, which meant she was the only mage in the area. It would have to do.

He found her inside an apothecary, mixing herbs. She looked up, startled by his sudden appearance. "Help him." Was all the Witcher supplied her with, setting his bard down on the medical bed. It was further into the room than he would have liked to have been, but his thoughts were only on Jaskier. He could barely hear him breathing, and his heart was slower than the Witcher's. He was frightened for Jaskier.

"Okay," Yennefer breathed, moving quickly to the bard's side. She didn't like the bard, but Geralt did. There was something in his eyes that spurred her into helping him. It was fear. She had thought the Witcher to fear nothing, and yet there he stood, almost begging for her to help him; All because of a simple bard. Her hand hovered over his throat. She could see the petals spilling over his lips and felt dread roll down her spine. She wouldn't be able to do anything, and Jaskier was too far gone to envoke the cure himself.

She stole a glance up to Geralt and saw him pacing. He never paced. She was wrong. It wasn't fear that he was feeling, it was pure terror. She looked back down at the bard and allowed some of her magic to flow into him. She could remember the Djinn incident, her magic flowing through Jaskier's veins to reconstruct his throat. She replicated it, only directed the magic to his lungs. The forest was too dense. The flowers too potent. White lupine. She looked back up at Geralt. He was still pacing, looking completely unsettled.

She looked back to Jaskier and found the bard looking up to his Witcher. "I'm sorry," She uttered so low that Geralt would never hear it, despite his hearing. Jaskier, who was right beside her, being the only one to understand her whisper. "I can't do anything to help you." He nodded slowly, understanding and acceptance. She felt a stab of pain in her chest. He was accepting. He was waiting for death to come and collect his soul. "Who?" She needed to know if there was ever a chance that he could have avoided this fate, she needed to know who she would be unleashing her chaos upon.

Jaskier looked at her, then slowly moved his eyes up to Geralt, who had stilled. She looked over her shoulder once more. He was stood there, looking down at Jaskier with barely contained tears in his eyes. Yennefer sucked in a breath. They were so hopelessly in love with each other that they couldn't even see it. Hell, she wouldn't be surprised if Geralt had no idea what he felt for his best friend. He was always denying that they were even friends, let alone lovers. "Is- Are-?" Geralt was tongue-tied.

There was hopelessness in his eyes. He knew, probably better than she did, that there were only two cures, and both needed to be invoked by Jaskier in order to work. "I'm sorry, Geralt. It's too far gone for me to envoke the cure. Jaskier is the one who has to." If the disease wasn't too potent, it was said that a mage would be able to remove the flowers and with it, the flowers of affection that the person held for the recipient. However, that included all feelings towards them entirely. Once the flowers were potent enough to be choking the ill beyond more than a shallow breath, the flowers would be impossible to remove. Yennefer knew this, and so did Geralt.

Geralt dropped into the chair near the bed, his face falling blank. She recognised the mask he was pulling up over his emotions. He was struggling, and both she and Jaskier could see it. Yennefer turned her attention back to Jaskier. "Tell him." She still kept her voice low, not wanting the Witcher to hear her words and jump to wrong conclusions. "Even if you're rejected it will be less painful than this. Please Jaskier. He needs you." She took his hand, running magic into his veins manually to soothe some of the pain. With her free hand, she plucked as many of the flowers from his mouth as she could.

"I can't" He croaked. His voice was too weak for her to make out what it was he was saying, but the minute shake of his head indicated to what he intended.

"Yes, you can. You owe it to him as an explanation." He scrunched his face up, not willing to speak anymore. More petals forced their way past his lips, shuddering his breath as they were forced up his trachea. She let out a small sigh, resigned. She wouldn't let him die like this. She wouldn't see him die without at least trying.

Jaskier was so certain that Geralt wouldn't accept the bard's feelings, that he'd decided to simply never mention them. Yennefer reached behind her and grabbed a clear vial with a slightly foggy looking liquid inside. "Here, drink this. It'll make it easier to speak." She didn't keep her volume minimal this time, earning a soft glare from the bard. A small, sad smile played upon her lips at the sight of him.

As she tipped a small amount onto Jaskier's tongue, loosening it. She looked over to Geralt and gestured with her head for him to come closer. The Witcher immediately moved from the chair to beside the bed, next to her. In any other case she might have become flustered with him stood so close to her, but she knew his heart truly belonged to someone else. "Tell him, Jaskier." She so rarely used the bard's name, choosing insults instead, but as she looked between the two, it only seemed right he get at least that from her.

"Ge-lt," Jaskier's mouth was full of flowers once more, which Yennefer cleared with a swift swish of her wrist. "I-" Jaskier was trying to sit up. Geralt reached him before she could, gently lifting him up. Jaskier allowed himself to be moved, curling into Geralt's chest. He looked so small compared to the Witcher at that moment. She tried to hold back the smile threatening to spill onto her face. It was not her place to intervene with the moment. "l'v you." Jaskier tried to say more, she could see his mouth trying to move, but the flowers had grown too high. A small breathy sound passed the bard's lips. He was frightened and he was out of words.

Pain filled Geralt's face, and Yennefer could see the battle in the Witcher's eyes. Geralt slowly brushed Jaskier's hair out of his face, and when Yennefer looked, heartbreak filled her.

Tears were rolling down Geralt's face, and he was holding his bard close to his heart, hoping beyond hope that the worse wasn't happening. He couldn't hear a heartbeat. He couldn't feel the shallow breaths against his neck where the bard's face rested. His bard was losing his heat, pale and lifeless in his arms. He looked to the mage, trying to figure out if it was some kind of sick joke. He was too tired for anger. All the energy was gone from his body. All he could bring himself to do was hold his bard close to his chest, hold him close.

He loved his bard too. It had taken until that moment for him to realise. He was always too late. He could never get anything right. Now his bard was gone, and there was nothing he could do to fix that. There was no spell to bring someone back from the dead, not after Hanahaki. Yennefer stood, her eyes solemn. "We should give him a burial. He would have liked that." Geralt didn't want to move. If he moved and his bard didn't it would be a reality.

Yennefer reached for him, and a low growl emanated from his chest, warding her off. "Okay," She repeated, standing to her full height. "I'll get some things ready. When you think you're ready, come outside." She turned and left the apothecary, leaving Geralt there, clutching his friend, no, lover, as close to his heart as he could be.

It was nightfall, and Yennefer was still stood outside when Geralt emerged, his bard cradled in his arms. It was wrong, seeing his bard so limp. Even in his sleep, the bard shifted and uttered. It was impossible for Jaskier to be silent, so once words failed him, Geralt knew he would be forced to walk the path in silence from then on.

The two walked out into a meadow outside of the town, Geralt still holding Jaskier close to himself. He didn't feel ready to let the bard go.

The meadow was full of various flowers, but as they walked further into the field, Geralt noticed them changing, becoming white lupine. Yennefer looked sheepish. It was her doing. All he had the energy for was a small grumble, annoyed that she'd enchanted the land, but also happy that Jaskier would be buried surrounded by the flower he'd associated with Geralt. It was a painful thing to admit, that he'd spent all that time trying to find a cure for his bard when it had been himself the entire time.

Yennefer helped him lower the body into the shallow grave that she'd made. It didn't stink of magic, which likely explained why it was so shallow. She'd dug it by hand for them; for his bard.

Jaskier lay there, his eyes closed, and his face devoid of any smile. It looked wrong, so very wrong, seeing the bard without any kind of emotion on his face. His skin was pale and lifeless. Geralt couldn't bring himself to look away, wanting one last look at his love before they left him behind forever. Maybe Geralt could request that if he dies and his body is recoverable, they bury him next to his love. "I love you, Jaskier," He breathed out. It was his final goodbye to the man who'd travelled with his for almost three decades. It was his farewell to the man who, despite everyone else's abhorrence to Geralt, had never turned away. Jaskier deserved that much.

His eyes scanned over the body of his love once more, taking it in for the last time. Soft blue met his golden eyes. Geralt sucked in a breath.


End file.
